


Blessed

by Tame_my_wild_heart



Category: Poirot - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 20:10:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19027063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tame_my_wild_heart/pseuds/Tame_my_wild_heart
Summary: Blessings come when you least expect them.





	Blessed

Note: This story bears no relation to my other one.

 

1.  
It was a grey, damp November morning. I could feel the drizzle making it’s way down the back of my neck. I was uncomfortably damp by the time I reached my bank. If my business had not been urgent, I might have left it for another day, for I had had an uneasy feeling all morning. It reminded me of how it feels before a thunderstorm. Putting it down to what Poirot would call my ‘childish imagination’ I joined one of the queues. The clerk was polite and efficient and it struck me how like Miss Lemon she was. As I turned to leave, I found myself only inches away from a double-barreled shotgun. Raising my hands, I stepped back up against the counter. I wanted to keep myself between him and the girl behind the counter. Old-fashioned chivalry some might call it. I prefer to think of it as good manners. Besides, I had spotted her wedding ring, she would be missed far more than me. 

The gunman appeared to have a couple of friends with him. One was tall, the other much shorter. Tall man flipped the bank sign round to closed and pulled the blinds down. Shorty was pushing the customers and staff into a huddle in the middle of the floor. I stayed where I was, not taking my eyes off the weapon. Behind me, the girl’s breathing became more rapid. She was beginning to panic, and judging by the faces of the other hostages, so were they. The gunman thrust a holdall toward me. He didn’t need to speak to make it clear he wanted it filled with money. She looked at me, I nodded slowly. We started loading bundles of cash into the bag. Fumbling with a wad of notes, I let one fall to the floor. He bent down to pick it up. That’s when I grabbed for the gun. 

Unfortunately, I’m not as quick as I used to be, and we found ourselves locked in combat, both of us struggling to get control of the weapon. Finally wresting it from his grasp, I was about to point it at the robbers, when I felt the familiar sedation of cold gunmetal behind my ear. I surrendered the shotgun and allowed the ringleader to get me in an armload. The gun still pressed against my skull, he frog-marched me towards the door. Suddenly, out of nowhere, I felt a terrific impact on my back that knocked me flying. I felt myself rolling over and over, my body’s momentum stopped only by a wall. Once the world stopped spinning, I was shocked to find a young woman lying on my chest. She jumped off me, and despite the wind having been knocked out of me, I struggled to my feet. It was only now that I was aware of the amount of activity around us. I immediately forgot about it, I was thinking only of the girl who had saved my life at enormous risk to her own. “Thank you. That was incredibly dangerous! Are you hurt?”  
She shook her head. She opened her mouth as if to speak, and then a shadow of fear passed over her features. She turned and fled. I started to follow her, but it was too late. “Look out!” I yelled. There was a screeching of tyres, a bang, and the scraping of metal on metal. I ran toward the devastation. A police car was twisted against a lamppost. Bits of debris littered the road, and she lay among the wreckage, blood pooling on the ground around her head. 

2.  
I stood outside the hospital ward, stubbornly refusing to move from the window. She lay in the nearest bed to me, just a few feet away. But because I was unable to convince the nurse I was family; not knowing her name had seen to that, I had been banished from the room without even the slightest clue as to her condition. The door banged open behind me. I turned to see Poirot standing there. The relief on his face was plain to see. He put his hands on my shoulders and pulled me into an embrace. It was the sort that he reserved just for me, and then only for the times when I had been stupid enough to put myself in harm’s way. Inspector Japp was a few steps behind him. “There you are, Captain. I’ve been looking for you. We need a statement from you, seeing as how you were rather in the thick of things. I told Poirot that there had been an armed robbery and that you were at the hospital. He rushed off before I got a chance to tell him you hadn’t been shot.” Poirot had the good grace to look sheepish. It was not like him to act on such premature assumptions, but I was touched by the depth of his concern. 

Japp took out his notebook and waited for me to begin. I talk about how I had gone to the bank that morning. I talked about how I had stood inches away from having my head blown off. I talked about how I had tried to stop the robbery. I talked about how a perfect stranger had saved my life and been punished for it. I talked until my mouth was dry. I talked about the war. “Command is hard, you know. I never got used to sending good men out to die. Especially the young ones. I counted them. Every time I sent out a patrol. I counted them as they left, desperately hoping I could count the same number back in. But it was their choice. They chose to join up, they knew that the fight was worth the risk. I understood that. Not that it made it easy to live with. But I don’t understand this. I don’t understand why she made this choice.” Before my emotions could betray me, I turned away from my friends. Japp quietly left, choosing not to intrude on my grief. Poirot joined me by the window. “Who is she Hastings? Are you sure you don’t know her?”  
“Not in the least. She came out of nowhere, literally. I don’t think she was inside. She barreled into me, knocked me away from the robber. I need to know who she is, Poirot. I need to know why she would take such a risk, for a complete stranger. Taking a chance like that, with so much ahead of her, for someone like me. I need to understand.”

Poirot pretended he hadn’t heard the someone like me part. In my defence, I had meant to keep that particular thought to myself. “Prendre courage, mon ami, the police have her belongings, we shall look through them. Maybe we find some little clue to her identity. We will get you your answers, mon ami, of that I am sure.”

 

3.  
Japp’s insistence saw me installed at her bedside. The doctor’s summary of her injuries was mercifully short – aside from a few cuts and bruises, a couple of cracked ribs and a hairline skull fracture proved how lucky she had been. As I watched her steady, shallow breathing and waited for her to wake, I couldn’t help wondering why she had felt it so necessary to save me. She was so young – she had to be still in her teens. Far too young to go this way. For the first time in my life I felt the desperate need to protect someone. We still had no clue as to her identity, having found no personal effects on her. What concerned me more was that no-one had claimed her. Could it be possible that she had nobody? I couldn’t stand to think that a person could exist in this world and yet make so little impact on it that nobody missed them. I brushed a curl off her face, and looked more closely at her. She reminded me of someone, but I was at a loss to place exactly who. 

I hated to leave her alone, but I was in desperate need of fresh air and tea. I also wanted to ring Poirot, to see if there was any more news. Japp had been less than helpful. With the bank robbers in custody, he had redeployed his men to other ‘more urgent’ cases. When he told me this, I had rather lost my temper. He had said nothing while I told him precisely what I thought of police procedures, and then told me that the decision hadn’t been his. He swept out of the room before I had had a chance to apologise but Poirot assured me that he wouldn’t have taken it personally. 

I pushed open the door leading in and out of the ward. Distracted by my own thoughts, I walked into a wall of wool. I found myself on the floor, opposite a young nurse dressed in a student’s uniform. We were surrounded by a number of blankets, all of which had managed to unfold themselves. I started to gather them up, and brushed off her insistence that she could manage. “Don’t be silly. It wasn’t your fault. Let’s get them up quick before Sister catches us.” She gave me a quizzical look. “I was in hospital during the war. The Sister seemed to spend most of her time berating the nurses. I don’t imagine things have changed much.” The nurse chuckled and scampered off with her restored load. I smiled after her retreating form, relieved to have spared her a potential tongue-lashing. Resuming my search for a cup of tea, I hadn’t heard the door open and close behind me.

Poirot had no news for me. Nobody involved in the bank robbery remembered her, and he had made exhaustive enquiries in the surrounding shops. If she had been in any of them, they either didn’t remember or weren’t willing to help. Somewhat deflated, I headed back toward her bedside. I sat down and immediately got up again. Partly because I had sat on something and partly because her bed was empty. I hastily stuffed my fallen wallet back in my pocket and hollered for a nurse. It didn’t take long for staff to turn the entire hospital upside down. Every room was checked, every nook, cranny and corner was searched. Eventually it was concluded that she must have left, and nothing suggested that it had been against her will. There was nothing more they could do, other than ask the police to be on the watch for her. With no reason to stay, I made my way home.

 

4.  
The rain had started coming down in sheets by now, and by the time I got home I was soaked through. I had walked back, searching every back alley, yard and garden. There was no sign of her. Given the weather, and the fact that she had left the hospital injured, I was becoming increasingly afraid for her. Several times I was certain I had seen her, but it wasn’t her. I was starting to doubt my own sanity. I began to wonder if any of it had been real. Perhaps I had hit my head and hallucinated the whole thing. As I walked, the events of the day began to catch up with me. My vision blurred a little and I felt my heart start racing. I stumbled onward, and somehow my homing instincts took me where I needed to go. 

I practically fell through the front door. Frantically trying to blink away the fog clouding my vision, I collapsed on the sofa. Miss Lemon shrieked in surprise when she saw me, and as if by magic, Poirot appeared at my side, forcing me upright and helping me drink a glass of water. I was trembling so hard I could barely hold the glass. A thick blanket was placed round my shoulders and the water was replaced with a glass of brandy. I leant back against the sofa and let out a deep, shuddering breath.

“Mr Poirot!” Miss Lemon’s half-shout, half-whisper had his attention immediately. She was staring at something out of the window. Poirot beckoned me over and pointed. “Is that her?” I looked where he indicated. Vigorously I shook my head and rubbed my eyes, trying to clear the haze. “Oh my god. Yes, that’s her. That’s her!” Not stopping to consider how she found me, I bolted downstairs and outside. She saw me coming and tried to run for it. As she turned, her foot caught and she tripped. The time it took her to get to her feet was just enough time for me to reach her. I grabbed her arm. “Please, don’t run away again. You’ll catch your death, come inside. Please, I just want to talk to you.” She thought for a moment, and then she shivered violently from the cold. This made up my mind for me. Tugging on her arm, I pulled her inside. She made a few attempts to escape me, but she was too weak and I wasn’t about to let go. I sat her on the settee. Miss Lemon sat beside her and offered her a cup of tea. She took it, her eyes flicking around the room. 

We attempted to convey a casual atmosphere. The silence was heavy, punctuated only by the clinking of porcelain cups on saucers. Poirot broached it first. “I am Hercule Poirot. You have already met my good friend Captain Hastings, and Miss Lemon. I am most indebted to you for coming to the rescue of my friend. He has the terrible habit of getting into these little scrapes. Will you not tell to me your name?”  
She debated with herself and exhaled. “Beatrix.” She gave a small snort of laughter. “At least I can appreciate the irony.”  
“What irony?” I asked.  
“It means blessed. Look at me, I’m hardly blessed. Cursed would be more like it.”  
I reached for her hand but she pulled away. “I know things are pretty bad right now, and I don’t know exactly what you’re so afraid of, but Poirot and I, we can help you. If you let us.”  
This time she laughed. It was a bitter angry laugh. “ I don’t want your help. I don’t want it, and I don’t need it. In fact, I would rather starve on the streets than take anything from you!”  
I was so shocked by her angry tirade that I would have fallen over had I not been sitting down. “I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but-  
“You did nothing! That’s the point, you didn’t do anything!” She threw a crumpled ball of paper at me. “Go on then. Tell me how you can help me.”  
I unfolded the paper and suddenly felt cold all over. I felt the blood drain from my face and lost the use of my legs. It was a photograph.  
“Where did you get this?”  
Beatrix said nothing. Her chest heaved with unspoken rage. I asked again, louder. “Where did you get this?”  
“You dropped your wallet. I picked it up. The picture was inside."  
“You stole it.” My tone was more accusing than I intended. In lieu of an answer, she took a locket out of her pocket and tossed it onto the table. The chain was broken, which explained why she hadn’t been wearing it. I opened it, and my eyes went wide. It was her. The picture was different, but it was definitely her. “Eleanor” I whispered. In the other side of the locket was an engraving. Forever blessed. My hands shook and I struggled to make my mouth work.  
“Do you know her?” Her tone was even.  
“I did. When I was in the army. You have to understand, it was wartime. Impending death and certain doom, they do things to you. They change you. You do things you would never normally do.”  
“Explain.”  
“I really loved her. Nobody knew about her. I was sent to France the day after.”  
“After what?”  
“After we got engaged.”  
All hell broke loose. Ignoring the thousand questions from Poirot and Miss Lemon, I was entirely focused on Beatrix. She was backing toward the door, suddenly unsure of herself. I felt a surge of hope. I had carried her picture with me always, hoping to one day see her again. “Why do you have her picture?”  
Beatrix became nervous and very agitated. The wind seemed to have been taken out of her sails. “She’s my mother.”

 

5.  
Those three words were all it took to floor me completely. She had bolted from the flat, and I chased after her. Finally, here was someone who could reunite me with the person I loved most. I caught up with her outside. Splashing through the puddles, I caught hold of her and swung around to face me. “Beatrix please, tell me. Tell me where she is. I have to go to her. If you know where she is you have to tell me.” Soaked from head to toe, her long hair plastered to her head, she stared at me. Tears were streaming down her face and her whole body was shaking. Again she pulled away from me. I shouted at her, begging her to give me what I needed.  
“I’m sorry.” She sobbed, and I could barely hear her over the driving rain. The icy fingers of fear clutched at my heart.  
“Why?”  
“I thought you abandoned her. I didn’t know why you left us. I was so angry, I wanted to hate you. I saved you because I needed to know.” She was becoming increasingly hysterical.  
“Know what? Please, tell me, how do you know Eleanor?”  
“She’s dead!” The last of her energy spent, she collapsed to the ground. I was at her side in a heartbeat. Lifting her head from the wet tarmac, I brushed her hair from her face. Cradling her close to my chest, I lifted her gently into my arms. I still had questions for her, but they could wait. 

Back upstairs, Poirot had added extra coal to the fire and had pushed the sofa closer to it. I laid her down on it, suddenly realising I had no dry clothes for her. The best option was to fetch a pair of my pyjamas. Miss Lemon was happy to get her out of her wet things so I left her to it, and joined Poirot in the kitchen. He held out a cup of tea. “Do you wish to talk about it? Or do you prefer to be British and stoic in your silence?”  
“I looked for her, when I came back. I went to the flat, but it was gone. The whole street was gone. There was so much confusion. Lots of people were missing. Some turned up, some didn’t. It was a poor neighbourhood, nobody knew exactly who lived there. But I did try. I went to the hospitals, I scoured the lists of the dead. It was so awful, half of them were unrecognizable.” I started pacing, while Poirot listened patiently. “Maybe I could have tried harder. I should have tried harder, If I’d known she was…I’m not proud of it. We were young, nobody knew how many tomorrows we had. When she stopped answering my letters I thought she might have found somebody else. Maybe I wanted to believe that because at least it meant that she was alive.” I sank into a chair, my face in my hands. There was a tap at the door, and Miss Lemon stuck her head in. “She’s sleeping.” I gave her a grateful smile and poured her a cup of tea. She took a seat opposite me. The shock of it all was beginning to set in. “My god, a daughter. I always wanted children, but a teenage daughter overnight, that’s…wow.” I looked up at my friends, desperate for help and advice. “ What do I do?” Poirot patted my shoulder encouragingly. “Tell to her what you told me. Miss Lemon and I shall go to dinner, and give you a little privacy.” Miss Lemon squeezed my arm. “You’ll do fine, Captain.”

I wished them both a good evening, and settled myself in an armchair to wait for Beatrix to wake. My head was spinning. I had lost the love of my life, but she had given me the most precious thing she could. I now took the opportunity to really looks her. Long dark hair, curled by dampness, framed a face while relaxed in a state of sleep now reminded me so much of her mother. Eleanor had had dark eyes, and I knew Beatrix’s were blue. She had not inherited her petiteness, but she had a grace about her, even in sleep. I wanted to let her sleep, but the list of questions in my head was lengthening by the second. And she would have questions too, and quite rightly.  
Beatrix began to stir. I quickly made tea. I smiled at the memory of Poirot teasing me about the british and their love of tea. When I returned to the living room she was awake, the blankets round her shoulders. I frowned in concern. She was still shivering lightly, despite the warm room. I placed a cup of tea before her and she picked it up, curling her delicate hands round it to warm them.  
We talked. Not about anything that mattered, but the silence was too much to bear, and both of us were unwilling to ask the questions. Maybe we were both afraid of the answers. Finally, I could stand it no longer.  
“How did you find me?”  
“Mother kept a diary. She wrote everything in it. She wrote about you a lot. When you stopped writing, she thought you didn’t love her anymore. She knew that if she told you she was pregnant, you’d feel obligated. She didn’t want you to marry someone you did not love. She did write again, when she got sick. She knew she was dying and she was so scared for me.”

She paused for breath and took a cigarette from the box on the table. I leant forward and lit it for her. I wasn't sure I approved of her smoking, not when she was so young, but I knew it was not for me to tell her what to do. I had not earned that right. She took a deep draw, blew out a thin stream of smoke and waited for me to speak.  
“I didn’t stop writing, not at first. I thought she didn’t reply to one of my letters. Mail went missing all the time. If she sent me her new address, but the letter didn’t get through…God, what must she have thought of me? You said she got sick, what was it?”  
“Typhus. Six years ago. I was nine. When she knew she couldn’t get better, she gave me her diaries and the locket. There was all sorts of stuff. Some letters from you and a photograph of you together. I cut her face out and put it in the locket. Your pictures still in the back.” Carefully she lifted out her Eleanor’s picture and showed it to me. “I wanted to throw it away, but I couldn’t do it. However angry I was, she loved you, and I didn’t want to disrespect that.”

I was struck by just how grown-up she was. To lose the only parent you have ever known so young, it was no surprise she was so hurt. And to believe yourself to be so unwanted, it was just so unfair. A silent tear fell from her eye and it broke my heart. Out came the whole story. Everything I had told Poirot. By the time I had finished, we were both crying. I for the loss of the woman I loved and the life they both should have had, the life I could have given them, and she for the years of anger she had clung onto for years. She dashed for the bathroom and I heard her retching. Concerned, I hovered outside until it passed. When she didn’t come out, I entered. She was sitting on the floors, her knees drawn up, and her arms round herself. She was rocking back and forth, her head on her knees. I knelt in front of her. Taking her face in my hands, feeling totally inadequate, I kissed her forehead. She looked so lost and vulnerable it tore me up inside. “I’m here.” I whispered. “I’m here, and I’m not going to leave you. I promise you, you’re never going to be alone again.”  
“You don’t have room in your life for a daughter.”  
I spoke slowly and deliberately, hoping that she would hear my sincerity. “You’re my daughter. I will always have room for you. I'm sorry wasn't able to take care of you when you were younger, but I'm here now. You're mine, you always will be. You've been so strong and so brave, you've made me such a proud father and I will not leave you." Her eyes searched my face, looking for any sign that I was lying to her. Finding none, she launched herself into my waiting arms. Through the singing of my heart and the words tumbling out of her mouth, I was sure I heard her say “Daddy”.

When Poirot and Miss Lemon returned from dinner, he hesitantly produced a bottle of champagne, unsure whether there was any cause for celebration. He couldn’t miss the joy on our faces. Miss Lemon fetched the glasses and we raised a toast to Eleanor’s memory, and to being blessed.


End file.
